


Bunker Bells

by Threxhi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threxhi/pseuds/Threxhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lights are hung, the tree is up, and Dean is more excited than he should be that Castiel is spending Christmas in the bunker.</p>
<p>“He’s been planning this for weeks,” Sam complains, finally looking up from the books he has spread out on the map table. His eyes flick from the lights to the garlands and wreaths stuck haphazardly around the war room in a long-suffering way that suggests that he really wants nothing to do with all this but is going along with it because Dean wants to. “He even got reindeer antlers for Crowley and a Rudolph nose for Kevin."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bunker Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from sanziene.tumblr.com and originally posted on my tumblr as "A Very Bunker Christmas".

Castiel lets in a blast of cold air when he walks into the bunker. The melted snowflakes peppered in his hair catch the Christmas lights that Dean has forced Sam to help hang before Castiel returns. The former angel looks at the lights from the balcony, eyes tracing the haphazard lines they make and the irregular timing with which they illuminate. “You made a devil's trap with lights?” Castiel asks once he descends to the main level and can see the pattern. “Though it is off-center and useless without the Eno--”

“Happy Jesus Day, dude!” Dean interrupts. He has a beer in one hand, a plastic angel ornament in the other, and a wide grin on his face.

“'Jesus Day,'” Castiel repeats, eyebrows knitting ever so slightly together in the way that means he is trying very hard to understand humans. Or maybe just to understand Dean.

“Well, I figured that since you're human now, it's time you joined in on all the festivities! You know, drinking until you pass out, singing godawful music... mistletoe.” Dean wiggles his eyebrows at Castiel and takes a swig of his beer.

“He's been planning this for _weeks_ ,” Sam complains, finally looking up from the books he has spread out on the map table. His eyes flick from the lights to the garlands and wreaths stuck haphazardly around the war room in a long-suffering way that suggests that he really wants nothing to do with all this but is going along with it because Dean wants to. “He even got reindeer antlers for Crowley and a Rudolph nose for Kevin.”

Castiel searches Dean's face and attempts a compliment. “It's all very... colorful.” The former angel ignores Sam's amused snort and frowns at Dean. “But Jesus was not born in December, and your estimates of the actual date are off by a few years. It was the Romans who celebrated the festival of Saturnalia and...” He trails off when Dean rolls his eyes and turns to hang the angel ornament on the scraggly tree in one corner.

Castiel tilts his head to the side as he inspects the small tree, from the devil's trap drawn on a piece of paper and stuck on top as the star down to the floor. “I did not realize it was custom to put a Christmas tree in a boot.”

“It's a _Christmas_ boot,” Dean says.  His expression dares anyone to argue with him, but Castiel does anyway.

“But it's just one of my brown boots you've filled with water, and it's leaking...” Dean moves his arm and Castiel falls silent as he sees the only four ornaments on the tree, all clustered together: the little angel with a crooked halo, a black car, a book, and a moose covered in glitter.

“Eh? Eh?” Dean says, smiling crookedly and nodding at the tree with a proud look on his face. “Bet _Jesus_ didn't have a kick-ass tree.” Castiel opens his mouth to reply and Dean rolls his eyes again. “Lemme guess...” He hunches his shoulders in a bit and makes his voice gravelly in a clear imitation of Castiel. “...No, Dean, Jesus didn't have a Jesus Tree, those weren't invented until blah blah blah.”

“The Renaissance,” Castiel fills in. He stares at Dean, somewhat at a loss for words despite the fluttery feeling in his stomach that he is learning to associate with happiness.

“He's had _way_ too much eggnog,” Sam says, appearing at Castiel's side and pressing a mug of the warm drink into Castiel's hands. Castiel realizes as he sips it and notices Sam glancing back and forth between his brother and Castiel with a small smile curving his lips that maybe Sam isn't as annoyed with all of the decorations as he pretends to be.

“This is good,” Castiel admits to Dean, curling his fingers around the mug. The rum in the drink only adds to the warmth growing inside him.

“Mhmm,” Dean mutters distractedly, reaching out and brushing some leftover froth off the corner of Castiel's mouth with his thumb. Castiel finds himself frozen in place, staring into Dean's eyes without saying anything.

Sam coughs quietly. “Wellllll, I'm going to go out. You know, shopping,” he says, beating a hasty retreat to the jacket draped over his chair. “Need anything? Besides pie.”

“Two pies! For Jesus!” Dean replies brightly, breaking the moment between them. Castiel takes another sip of the eggnog and looks around the bunker as he tries to remember how to breathe normally.

As Dean argues with his brother about which flavors of pie to buy, Castiel's attention is caught by a couple of boxes wrapped neatly in blue paper patterned with dreidels and Stars of David. Both have tags with Castiel's name, and Castiel exchanged his eggnog for the larger of the two boxes in curiosity. “Why does this one have a hole cut in it?” he asks, raising it to eye level and squinting to see into it.

Dean is suddenly at his side. He chuckles as he snatches the box from Castiel's hands. “No reason,” he says, shooting Castiel a cheeky grin. “It's just a joke.”

“I do not understand,” Castiel says. He frowns as Dean tosses the box away behind him and leans down to pick up the other.

“Fuhgeddaboudit. Open this one instead.” Confused, Castiel squints at him but accepts the smaller present. “You're not supposed to open presents until Christmas day, but, well...” Dean shrugs and smiles at him in that impish way that is purely Dean. “What the hell!”

Castiel stares down at the present in his hands for a long moment. “I've never been given a present before,” he says as he raises his eyes to meet Dean's once more. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean appears slightly flustered by the sincerity of Castiel's gratitude. “Yeah, well, it ain't no frankincense carried all night on a camel or anything, but--”

“Christians got the idea for Christmas presents from the Pagans,” Castiel corrects absently as he tries as hard as possible to unwrap the present without ripping the paper. It isn't that Castiel feels any particular attachment toward the Jewish symbolism, but the number of smoothed-out creases and carefully-placed tape make it clear how nice Dean had tried to make the present look.

Dean just chuckles at this latest bit of information and scoots a bit closer to Castiel. “Open it already!” he demands.

Castiel sets the paper aside, takes off the lid, and holds the contents midway up in the air.

“Mistletoe,” Dean supplies helpfully, eyes twinkling in the lights.

“Mistletoe,” Castiel confirms. “Associated with the Norse gods and to protect homes. I do not know how it came to be associated with ki--”

In one swift movement, Dean pushes Castiel's arm higher into the air and presses his lips against Castiel's, burying his free hand in the man's dark hair. The box falls to the floor forgotten, though Castiel clings to the sprig of mistletoe overhead as though his life depends on it.

“Kissing?” Dean askes breathlessly once they break apart for air.

The room lights dim, leaving only the strings of Christmas lights illuminated. Both men glance up to see Sam innocently drop his hand from the light switch and sneak out the door to the bunker. The two are left alone in the dim room, Castiel still holding the mistletoe aloft.

Pressed so closely together, Dean can feel Castiel chuckle. “I see why you like Christmas,” he murmurs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles at Dean.

“Damn straight,” Dean says before his lips meet Castiel's once more.

Crowley's sarcastic voice echoes through the walls as he yells loud enough for them to hear. “And a Merry _bloody_ Christmas to all!”


End file.
